Of Flowers & Jealousy
by KatjaLaRoux
Summary: Fenris left Hawke but didn't leave Hawke. Years later, they're still trying to navigate their relationship. / "Fickle?" She narrowed her eyes at the elf. "You have the nerve to call me fickle?" (Oneshot. femHawke/Fenris.)


**_A/N:_** Takes place at the beginning of Act 3, "Finding Nathaniel" quest. Rogue Hawke, romanced Fenris (and a Merrill/Isabela ship in the background). This is the same Hawke and Fenris as "Of Tea & Home" and "Of Music & Reconciliation." Each oneshot can stand alone, but if you want to read them in order they go: T&H, F&J, M&R. For SinsofMidnight's Writing Challenge: Prompt 14 "Flowers."

* * *

"I think this entrance would be best," Hawke said, tapping a finger on the map spread in front of her. "It's further for us, but, assuming the Wardens came in from Ansburg, it's the first entrance they'd reach."

Varric nodded in agreement and took a sip of his ale. Hawke sat back in her chair and stared at the map in front of her, mentally making a list of things to pack. It was a relatively quiet night in the Hanged Man, quieter still in Varric's suite. Anders was busy with whatever it was he'd been up to recently, and Sebastian was preoccupied with Chantry business. Merrill and Aveline had both been there earlier in the evening but had both left, claiming exhaustion after running around Kirkwall with Hawke, collecting news and delivering messages and agreeing to a list of favors the length of Fenris's sword—including this request to go down to the Deep Roads.

"Does it seem strange to anyone but me that a Grey Warden would need rescuing from the Deep Roads?" Hawke's head snapped up at Fenris's question. "Are they not safer there than any of us?"

"Broody has a point," Varric said. "You seem pretty anxious to go back down there to rescue this Howe fellow…"

"Well," Hawke shrugged, tapping her fingers on the side of her mug of ale. "I do sort of know Nathaniel Howe. If there's any chance of finding him, I'd like to."

"Wait, you know him?" Isabela suddenly perked up. "When did this happen? Is there a story? Ask her if there's a story, Varric."

"Is there a story, Hawke?" Varric arched an eyebrow.

Hawke chuckled and shook her head.

"It's not much of a story. And I don't really _know_ him. It's just…my family lived in Amaranthine for a year. Nathaniel's father was Arl there, and…" Her gaze drifted to the mug of ale in her hands, grinning at the memories. "It was a good year. My father had good work there, and it was before Bethany's magic presented. I was 13, and I would stand outside the Chantry and sell flowers from our garden. There was one morning that one of the Chantry sisters was trying to shoo me away, saying I was a nuisance. And Nathaniel Howe walked right over, interrupted the sister, and bought a bouquet of flowers from me. He must have been 18 or 19, and he was…_dashing_. Tall and dark and…I remember him smiling at me when the sister walked away grumbling. Maker," she sighed. "Nathaniel Howe wouldn't know me from Andraste, but I bet I could still pick his smile out of a room full of strangers." She looked up from her ale to find Varric smirking at her. She just rolled her eyes. "There's no _story_, Varric. I had a giant, schoolgirl crush on him. That's all."

"Sure, Hawke," Varric nodded sagely. "So who are you going to take with you?"

"Why, my trusty dwarf, of course," Hawke chuckled. "I can't visit the Deep Roads without—"

"I'll go," Isabela leaned forward, grinning wolfishly. "I want to meet this tall, dark, and dashing."

Hawke laughed, and was about to reply when Fenris cut in.

"You would go to the Deep Roads after a childhood crush? I had not thought you to be so fickle, Hawke."

"_Fickle_?" She narrowed her eyes at the elf. "You have the nerve to call _me_ fickle?"

"After watching your sister nearly die down there, you would run back so willingly over a man who bought flowers from you once? Yes," Fenris nodded. "I believe that fickle is an accurate word."

Hawke bristled at the mention of Bethany. And she scowled at him. "Not all of us can be so…_uncompromising_, Fenris."

He stood abruptly from the table, and Hawke was mildly pleased at having managed to get a reaction from him.

"I just hope this man is worth risking your friends' lives," he said, his voice cold.

"He is worth no more or less risk than chasing down Hadriana," Hawke countered. "And I bet he'd at least have the balls to—" Hawke snapped her mouth shut as Fenris stiffened. She slumped back in her chair and whispered the end of her sentence: "Stick around."

For a heartbeat, no one in Varric's suite even breathed. It was a low blow, and Hawke knew it. But so was bringing up Bethany.

Hawke looked up at Fenris. His face was still as stone save the twitch of muscle in his jaw. She met his eyes and, as steadily as she could, said, "After what happened to Bethany, I would not leave _anyone_ in the Deep Roads if I could help it. If you know anything about me, Fenris, you know that."

Fenris's face softened, almost imperceptibly. Anyone else might have missed it, but Hawke had spent years learning the his facial expressions.

"I could use your sword," she added carefully, knowing it was a gamble, knowing that Fenris rarely said no when she asked for his assistance, and knowing he would _want_ to say no after what she'd just said to him.

But he surprised her by nodding.

"You can have my spot, Broody," Varric offered. "I'd rather not go back down there again, if it's all the same to you, Hawke."

Hawke nodded at Varric and tipped her head in Isabela's direction.

"Bring Merrill, would you? I don't have the heart to make Anders go back down there, but I want a mage with us."

"I'm sure Kitten will be delighted to help," Isabela replied.

"It's settled then," Hawke sighed. "We leave at first light."

Fenris nodded sharply and left without another word.

"Well, that went well," Hawke muttered, glancing down at the mug in front of her before downing the last of the bitter ale in one swallow. She looked back up at Varric, who was watching her carefully.

"How long has it been?"

Hawke frowned at him. "Since we went to the Deep Roads? Five? Six years?"

"Since Fenris walked out on you," Isabela clarified.

Hawke closed her eyes, like that could block out the question—or the conversation she knew was going to follow.

"Two years," she groaned.

"Two and a half," Varric corrected her.

"Right." She frowned, opening her eyes. "I know what you're going to say. I need to get over him." She shook her head. "Most of the time, it's fine. We're still friends."

"Oh, sweet thing," Isabela purred. "You just need to get laid, get some of that…frustration taken care of."

Varric snorted. "I'm pretty sure that's Rivaini propositioning you, Hawke. In case the hand on your thigh or the look in her eye wasn't obvious."

Hawke rolled her eyes and stood, Isabela's hand sliding from her leg. "I'm going home."

She was two steps out of the Hanged Man when Isabela appeared at her side, draping an arm over her shoulders.

"Still friends, huh?"

"Yes," Hawke sighed. "We're still friends. And yes, I still love him. And you know all of this already, Is."

"I do, sweet thing. I do." Isabela shook her head. "I just don't know that it's good for you to keep hoping he'll figure things out and come back."

"I'm not—I don't—he's—_shit_." Hawke frowned, knowing she sounded about as coherent as her little brother ever did. She shook her head. It was the same conversation she'd been having with the pirate for a while, and there wasn't a whole lot she could say in her defense. So she went with what would appease Isabela and let her get home the quickest. "I know, Is. I'm…working on it."

The truth was that Hawke _was_ hopeful. Because she saw the concern in Fenris's eyes whenever she was hurt in a fight, he had stayed by her side constantly while she recovered from her duel with the Arishok, and, every once in a while, she caught him watching her with his lips curved up in an almost-smile. And he still wore her red ribbon tied around his gauntlet—something she'd never even asked him to do in the first place.

But then there were stupid arguments like tonight. And maybe Isabela was right. Maybe letting go of that thin thread of hope would also mean being able to let go of those old and stubborn and bitter emotions as well. But for Hawke, hope was a hard thing to let go of.

As planned, they met at first light, just outside the city gates, and headed North and into the Vimmark Mountains.

The first day in the Deep Roads went about as Hawke expected. Isabela made lewd comments, Merrill giggled, and Fenris rarely spoke. And Hawke ended up with darkspawn guts in her hair. The fighting hadn't been particularly difficult, but it was never-ending—another dozen or so darkspawn around every corner. They had finally cleared a room that seemed safe-ish and settled in for the night, unrolling the four sleeping mats in a cluster.

It only took a minute for Isabela to drag hers closer to Merrill's, so they could curl up together, still giggling. Hawke stretched out her back and stared up at the ceiling.

"Is this what it was like the last time?"

She turned her head to Fenris, who was next to her on his back, also staring up at the ceiling.

"A bit," she replied. "Except Anders wouldn't stop bitching about how much he hates it down here, there were Ogres and rock wraiths and a demon in addition to the darkspawn…oh. And Varric's brother locked us in and left us for dead."

"I see."

Hawke closed her eyes as she heard another giggle and a sigh from the other side of their little camp. She often wished she could be as lighthearted as those two, but it was difficult—especially in a place like this. As it was, Hawke wasn't even sure she'd be able to sleep, memories of her sister collapsing, skin grey and eyes gone dark, invading her thoughts every few minutes.

"Hawke…" She turned to Fenris again, blinking at his shadowed figure next to her. "I understand now why you would come back here so willingly to look for someone. I…apologize for bringing your sister up in such a way. It was unfair of me."

"Thank you, Fenris," she whispered. She cringed at the emotion in her own voice, unaware of how close to tears she'd actually been. And she was surprised when she felt Fenris reach for her hand, lying in the space between them, his long, thin fingers twining themselves with her own. She knew Fenris wasn't one for casual contact, and wondered at the rare sign of affection. After a deep, steadying breath, Hawke began her own apology.

"I'm sorry for what I said, too. I—"

"Don't," he interrupted, squeezing her hand gently. "You were angry. Speaking out of anger is something I am…well versed in."

Hawke couldn't help the huff of air she let out at his wry statement. She knew he was referring to the night they had chased after Hadriana. She also knew he was conceding her point about the risks she takes, is always taking, to help others. But there was still something else she needed to say.

"I'm sorry if my story about Nathaniel made you…uncomfortable." _Jealous_. She wanted to say jealous but somehow was afraid to point out that emotion. It was a fragile enough conversation, and she didn't want to shatter it. She didn't want him to let go of her hand.

Fenris didn't respond right away, and Hawke found herself holding her breath. When he did speak, she thought she could hear a hint of amusement in his voice. Maybe he knew she meant jealous.

"I did not realize you were interested in…'tall, dark, and dashing.'"

"It was a phase," she replied. "I grew out of it. Tall is…overrated."

"Hm." The singe syllable was all Hawke was going to get, and she knew it. But she also knew there was a faint smile in it. And he didn't let go of her hand.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his hand. It was a small thing. Small and tenuous and probably unremarkable in Isabela's eyes—but for Hawke, it was enough.


End file.
